Dustin faced three black-haired Wight-Gilders, each impervious to weapons. He moved like smoke through fingers, weaving through their coordinated assault with fluid grace.

He no longer met them head-on. His swordplay turned sharp and unpredictable, the blade always finding a joint or the pulse of talismanic energy that bound the undead together. He struck at weak points to dismantle the whole.

Metallic clangs and sharp hisses rang out as sparks flew.

One Wight-Gilder's knee joint was pierced through by sword aura, freezing its movements in place. Another had the control talisman on its back, flicked apart by his sword tip, sending it spinning wildly like a headless fly.

The last one was the most ferocious. Its claws aimed straight for Dustin's chest, but he slipped aside with perfect timing.

With a swift backhanded slash, his sword slid straight into the gaping maw from which it spewed deathly energy. The sword aura exploded inside, tearing the undead's head apart from within.